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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26018806">i hope you don't mind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/celosiaa/pseuds/celosiaa'>celosiaa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Character, Sickfic, Songfic, Sort Of, its very soft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:55:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,641</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26018806</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/celosiaa/pseuds/celosiaa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Between the Corruption and the Stranger, Jon is weakened-- feeling the effects of the domain he's left behind, and overwhelmed by the horrors pouring from what's to come.</p>
<p>Martin calms him down in the best way he knows how-- a bit of love, and a bit of song.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>140</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i hope you don't mind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi everyone! just a short one here today based on a prompt from my tumblr asking for Martin to sing.  the song here is "Your Song" by Elton John, which you should definitely give a listen!! it's very soft you won't regret it! please enjoy &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Just a little longer.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Just hold on a bit, and he’ll be fine.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>We’ll be fine.</em>
</p>
<p>Sniffling into his sleeve, Martin watches Jon sleep from where he’s curled up with his back against the tree, trying his best not to shiver in the cold he knows is not really there.  After they’d left the sick village, Jon had grown weaker and weaker as they approached the next domain—his steps stumbling, his breathing ragged and worn—until Martin had at last forced them to stop.  Jon had begun rambling, the words so badly slurred together he couldn’t make any of them out, and the ashen tone of his complexion was enough to convince Martin he was on the verge of blacking out.  The way Jon was shaking…he couldn’t help but settle him beneath their blanket, head pillowed on a small pile of their hopelessly wrinkled clothes, though he knows for a fact a steadily climbing fever is wracking his body.</p>
<p>He swipes at his own brow, nose wrinkling against the sweat he finds there, before tipping his head back against the tree in an effort to stem the flow of this sudden congestion.  Best he can figure, Jon had been overwhelmed with…well, whatever goes on inside his head these days, and with him weakened, it left both of them vulnerable to the effects of the Corruption.  What else could possibly explain this illness out of nowhere, and the heat rolling off the man next to him in billows?</p>
<p>Jon shifts a little beneath the blanket, muttering feverishly with furrowed brows—the sight bringing hot, stinging tears into Martin’s eyes at once.</p>
<p>
  <em>Damned fever, always making me weepy.</em>
</p>
<p>He swipes at his eyes in frustration, the buzzing in his sinuses building to a peak as he does—forcing him to turn away to stifle a few miserable sneezes into his sleeve.  It seems his efforts to be quiet were unsuccessful, however—as Jon begins to move about in earnest, letting out a low moan that turns quickly into exhausted coughing.</p>
<p>“Sorry, Jon, I’m sorry,” Martin mutters, letting his knees fall toward him as he reaches for his forehead.</p>
<p>
  <em>God, that’s horrendous.</em>
</p>
<p>He can’t help but wince at the heat he finds there—burning even against his own feverish palm.  The coughing hasn’t stopped either, growing deeper by the moment, enough that it’s starting to sound a bit concerning.</p>
<p>“You alright?” Martin asks against the scratching of his own throat, lightly resting a hand on Jon’s chest.</p>
<p>It seems as though Jon did not hear him, merely continuing to cough wetly until his lungs at last settle down.  When he finishes, he leans back against the makeshift pillow, breathing as deeply as he can, the dampness crackling through his lungs even as he does.</p>
<p>“You okay?” Martin repeats, running a hand up and down Jon’s clammy forearm.</p>
<p>Still, Jon does not reply, merely closing his eyes and muttering—statements, Martin’s sinking heart tells him, all jumbled together in miles and miles of words of pain, of suffering, of sorrow.  It kills him to see Jon carry it all, and know he can do <em>nothing.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Please please wake up</em>
</p>
<p>“Jon, can you hear me?” he asks, turning away for a moment to cough into his elbow.  “I’m right here, sweetheart—come back to me if you can.”</p>
<p>Grasping his hand tightly, Martin bends down to press a kiss on Jon’s forehead, willing him to return, to say something, anything—</p>
<p>When he pulls back, the muttering has stopped—though only in voice, for Jon’s lips still move erratically around whatever words the Eye is pouring into his mind.</p>
<p>And now tears have begun to slip down his face.</p>
<p>“Oh, darling,” Martin sighs worriedly, cupping Jon’s face in his hands and brushing the tears away with the pads of his thumbs.</p>
<p>To his dismay, Jon takes a gasping inhale beneath his hands, eyes blown wide and wild, before wrenching forward into devastating, guttural sobs.</p>
<p>“Oh god, oh Jon, come here—”</p>
<p>Martin pulls Jon up into his arms, keeping a gentle hold around his trembling frame, hands wrapping around his torso and resting at the nape of his neck.  In desperation, Jon clutches at Martin’s back, hands fisting into the folds of his jacket as his breaths pick up both shallowness and speed.</p>
<p>“Shh, shh—I’ve got you, darling, just hush now,” Martin soothes shakily, rocking him ever so softly back and forth, one hand reaching up to massage his scalp in a way he knows Jon usually finds relaxing.</p>
<p>But it’s all for naught, as he only continues to sob harder into his shoulder, hands clenching and unclenching in distress.  It dismal, it’s horrid, it’s gut-wrenching—and Martin has no idea how to make it stop.</p>
<p>
  <em>I’ve got to calm him.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>There’s got to be something.</em>
</p>
<p>All at once, he is flooded with a memory of the two of them back at the safehouse—Martin in his boxers, Jon in his flannel pyjamas—in the kitchen, laughing and dancing to—</p>
<p>Martin clears his throat, and begins to sing.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>It's a little bit funny, this feelin' inside</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>I'm not one of those who can easily hide</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>The hands clutching at his jacket begin to loosen, and Martin cannot help but smile.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>I don't have much money, but boy, if I did </em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>I'd buy a big house where we both could live </em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>And it’s so clear in his mind’s eye now, that for a moment, he’s sure that Jon is letting him <em>See</em>—the two of them in a proper house, with a dog and a garden and grey in their hair.  It’s the loveliest thing Martin has ever longed for.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>So excuse me forgettin', but these things I do</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>You see, I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>Jon has fully relaxed in his arms now, his breathing slowing down with every line of the song that Martin knows he’s mixed up the words for.  Taking a pause for just a moment, he plants a kiss on the top of Jon’s head, swaying him side to side with the rhythm.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Anyway, the thing is, what I really mean</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>At first, he thought he’d imagined it—but Jon’s chest moves in a small shudder of a laugh, face still pressed into Martin’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“They really are, you know,” Martin whispers with a grin, and Jon shakes his head—before his shoulders follow, and Martin can feel the tears dampening his shirt beneath him.</p>
<p>“Oh, darling.” Martin sighs, heart breaking at the little gasps coming from beneath the mess of hair.  “Shh, hush now, I’m right here.”</p>
<p>They spend a few moments like this before Martin continues, rocking him back and forth and praying to whatever gods there are that his voice will hold out for just a bit longer.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>And you can tell everybody this is your song</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>It may be quite simple but now that it's done</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>I hope you don't mind</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>I hope you don't mind</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>That I put down in words</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>How wonderful life is while you're in the world</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>At last, at long last, Jon picks up his head from Martin’s shoulder—just barely long enough to peck him on the cheek—before he flops back down again.  The joy and relief that washes over Martin now is like nothing he’s ever felt—just grateful that maybe, for now, the worst has passed, and maybe Jon will be able to get some proper rest.</p>
<p>“Here, love—why don’t you lie down, okay?  Just lie down on my lap here, you’ll be alright,” he encourages, gently guiding Jon to do just that. </p>
<p>For a moment, they remain silent—Martin stroking a hand through Jon’s fever-soaked curls, before he opens his eyes at last.  Though green and glowing and so very strange now—they’re still endlessly deep, and so searching, and so very, very Jon.</p>
<p>
  <em>God, I love you.</em>
</p>
<p>Even as he thinks this, Jon grabs his hand, bring it down to rest against his chest without looking away.</p>
<p>“One more time,” he says, voice whittled away into nothing.  “Need you to see.”</p>
<p>“See…?”</p>
<p>“Please.”</p>
<p>And Martin cannot help but comply, as Jon’s eyes fall closed once more.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>And you can tell everybody this is your song</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>All at once, he’s caught up in a vision—and he knows for certain Jon is feeding it to him, letting him in for just a moment—all for the purpose of showing him memories.  Memories of them together. </p>
<p>Jon’s arm looped through his as they walk through a blustering Scottish afternoon—</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>It may be quite simple but now that it's done</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>Endless cups of tea set on Jon’s desk, before they melt into shared cups, shared tea, Jon making it in their kitchen, Martin teasing him about it not being right—</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>I hope you don't mind</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>Lying in bed together—</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>I hope you don't mind</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>Their lips joined together in an affront to the dark—</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>That I put down in words</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>The vision fades, and Martin is left with what’s in front of him—his love, his love, and nothing else.</p>
<p>
  <em>I love you I love you I love you</em>
</p>
<p>Leaning over him with a blushing grin, Martin sings the last words, certain that he’s never sung them with such force of meaning as in this moment.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>How wonderful life is while you're in the world</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>Jon opens his eyes again at last, and—though ill and drained and exhausted beyond all measure—allows his face to melt into a smile, which Martin finds it impossible not to kiss.</p>
<p>“I love you too,” he whispers, before pressing another into his hair.  “Now go to sleep.”</p>
<p>At once, Jon does his best to comply, and Martin is soon to follow—a moment of peace in the growing dark.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>come find me on tumblr @celosiaa! thanks for reading, and have a wonderful day &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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